Read, Write, Love at Seaside(22)

Perfect. Just perfect.

He’d found her bike lying on the ground at the end of the beach access road, and he’d ridden back to his house in the dark the night they’d met. He glanced at his sports car, realizing he didn’t want to chance marring the leather by manhandling the bike into it, even with the top down. There was no way it would fit in the trunk without some elaborate tying down. With a loud, frustrated sigh, he put the bag of things he’d picked up for Leanna into the basket and felt a pang of longing chased by something akin to anger only not quite as harsh, directly to his heart. He stared at the bag. He couldn’t even get Leanna out of his head enough to forgo buying the things she needed. For the first time in his life—and he’d experienced a lot of firsts since meeting Leanna—he felt like the very definition of the word fool. He was sure if he Googled the word, his picture would appear, and he was powerless to do anything short of climbing on the bike and riding it the mile and a half to Leanna’s cottage.

Thankfully, there wasn’t much traffic on the back roads at seven in the morning. He could only imagine what he looked like. He was a foot too tall to be riding the bike in the first place. Add the pink color and the baskets, and he looked like he’d either stolen the stupid thing or he was more interested in men than women.

He stepped off the bike when he came to the entrance of Seaside, and instead of heading directly to Leanna’s cottage, he walked the bike around the other side of the development, where he found a gray building with LAUNDRY painted over the door and noticed that Leanna’s van wasn’t parked there. He followed the narrow gravel road around the bend, passing a large house on the left, which seemed out of place among the cozy cottages, and three more cottages on his right, before coming to a pool. He paused for a moment, trying to reconcile the postage-stamp-sized houses with the large swimming pool. There weren’t many in-ground pools on the Cape besides the ones at the motels, and it intrigued him. A pool would offer something even the ocean could not. He could jump in to cool off and not have to worry about being sticky with sea salt when he went back to writing. His eyes fell to the bike, and he pushed away the daydream and continued up the road to Leanna’s cottage.

Her driveway was empty.

I park it by the laundry room.

His chest tightened with the realization that she’d probably spent the night at Carey’s.

None of my business.

Shoot.

He opened the gate to the deck, and Pepper barked from behind a window screen, nearly giving him a heart attack.

“Come on, Pepper,” he said through clenched teeth. “Hush. Please.” He leaned the bike against the house.

Pepper stopped barking and panted.

He touched the screen with his finger and Pepper licked it. “Did she forget you last night?”

Leanna’s face appeared behind Pepper. She blinked several times and sleepily rubbed her eyes.

“I could never forget Pepper.” She hugged Pepper’s head, and Pepper licked her cheek.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” He couldn’t take his eyes off of her devastatingly sexy bare shoulders.

“You brought my bike back?”

She smiled, and he felt his anger float away. He stifled the urge to say, Oh, come on. Not the smile? That’s not fair.

“Come on in,” she said through the window.

He watched her walk away and—wow—she was wearing only a pair of lace panties. She disappeared into the bedroom, and when she came back out, her arms were up in the air and a silk camisole was sliding down her bare chest. Kurt could. Not. Move.

She came out on the deck, took his hand, and—

A chipmunk ran across the deck inches in front of her feet.

“Did you see him? Wasn’t he the cutest little thing?” Her eyes widened, and the joy that she exuded was contagious.

Kurt felt a smile form on his lips. She was incredibly cute, but he could not form a sentence to save his life.

Another first.

“Come on. I’ll make you some coffee.” She led him inside.

The clothes she’d worn the night before were on the kitchen table, her shoes were in the middle of the floor, and there she stood, barefoot, in a pair of lace panties and that seductive silky camisole, setting a teakettle on the stove. He might not be able to speak, but he could feel the squeeze of his heart, and his legs had a mind of their own. Two silent steps put him behind her. His hands found her glorious hips—the hips he’d dreamed about more times over the past two days than he cared to admit.

“No coffee,” he whispered in her ear. “I…I’m jogging back home.” His heart thundered in his chest, and when she turned to him and pressed her hands to his pecs, she stole his breath.